


Oh my god,,, they were roommates,

by moorehawke



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: F/M, Literal Sleeping Together, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, beta whomst, chilling on a mattress, five feet apart cause they have to maintain a professional relationship, for the sake of JoUrNaLiStIc InTeGrItY, i wrote this at 2am and refused to reread it, idk i just read a bunch of "alex has nightmares" fics and was like hey..., two bros - Freeform, you know what would fix that...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22584961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moorehawke/pseuds/moorehawke
Summary: this is part of my new years' resolution, which is "post works even when you don't think you should". imo this is TRASH and should never see the light of day, but you know what? it's the black tapes. no one's paying attention. i'm allowed my garbage self-indulgent bullshit.if you know me in real life, please, for the love of god, stop reading now.
Relationships: Alex Reagan/Richard Strand
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Oh my god,,, they were roommates,

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of my new years' resolution, which is "post works even when you don't think you should". imo this is TRASH and should never see the light of day, but you know what? it's the black tapes. no one's paying attention. i'm allowed my garbage self-indulgent bullshit.
> 
> if you know me in real life, please, for the love of god, stop reading now.

Doctor Richard Strand was a very light sleeper.

This was the result of a lot of things - his refusal to drink decaf tea, his habit of working late, a constant on-edge feeling carried over from his childhood - but most of all, it was because he was so used to being alone. He wasn't accustomed to voices or movement in the night, and as such wasn't good at tuning them out.

This was why, when Alex Reagan opened the gate to his front garden with a light creak in the early hours of Sunday morning, he was awake instantly.

His alarm clock flashed its disapproval at him. 2:16am. Undeterred, he got up and padded barefoot downstairs. A nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him this was important, that Alex _needed_ him to be there. The hardwood floor was cold, despite his best efforts at heating the rooms against the January night air. He opened the door just as Alex reached it.

She started, and looked at him for a second with wide, fearful eyes, before recognising him and letting her shoulders drop. She was more dishevelled than he'd ever seen her - hair trying desperately to escape from its loose bun, dark circles under half-closed eyes, hands fidgeting absently in front of her stomach.

"Alex," Dr Strand said. "Is everything alright?" 

She looked at him and shook her head. He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. A taciturn Alex was something he'd never encountered before, and he quickly decided that he missed her usually effortless ability to fill silence. "Why don't you come in," he said, stepping back to give her room. She nodded gratefully and entered the house.

His father's house was still his father's more than it was his. Antiques from his travels littered the rooms, and much of the furniture had been here already when he arrived. He'd bought new appliances for the kitchen, though - a coffee machine, a new microwave, a slow cooker. He looked at Alex, shaking in his hallway, and started heating water for tea.

"What happened?" He asked.

"A nightmare. Sleep paralysis, I think." She was still in her pyjamas, a black singlet and blue cotton pants with zig-zags around the legs. Her bare shoulders were pale, blue veins just barely visible around her collarbone, and he realised she must still be freezing. Wordlessly, he pulled a throw rug off the back of the worn leather sofa and draped it over her. She pulled it close and offered him a smile. "Thanks." At his gesture, she sat down.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" He was facing away, tending to the kettle, which had started to boil.

"No." She shook her head quickly, but then hesitated. "Yes? I don't know. I want to, but I just… don't want to make it real, you know?"

His thoughts flickered back to the river. "I get it." He said. He finished brewing the tea - chamomile and vanilla, his brew of choice after a shock - and wordlessly handed her a mug. She wrapped her hands around it and held it close. "Alex." She looked up at him. "It's early. We both need to sleep. I have a spare room you can stay in if you want." She nodded, obviously relieved.

The spare room was still a little dusty, but it had a double bed and a clean set of sheets. "Thank you," Alex said. 

"You'll be okay here?" She still looked skittish, eyes darting to the corners of the room.

"I think so. Goodnight, Doctor Strand."

"Goodnight."

He padded down the hall to his own room, leaving the door open and falling back onto the bed. He listened carefully through the doorway for sounds of movement, but heard little. Alex must be okay. Reassured, he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

He woke to the sound of careful, rustling footsteps. For a second he froze, his mind immediately going to thoughts of hour intruders, but then he understood. It was Alex, peering in the door of his room. She didn't say anything, just slipped through the doorway and lay down quietly on the floor, still unaware she'd woken him. It took Strand a minute of listening to her rearrange the blanket she'd brought before he realised what her plan was.

"For God's sake, just get up here."

She jumped, of course, and sat up. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said. Her voice was shaking slightly, a near imperceptible tremor of someone who's just seen something they're trying to forget. "I'm so sorry, it just happened again and I-" she cut off for a second. "I don't think I can sleep in a room by myself at the moment."

"It's fine. Sleep paralysis can be… overwhelming. The mind associates company with safety."

"That's one way to put it."

He paused for a second. "You can't sleep on the floor. The hardwood is freezing, you'll get sick." He shifted to the edge of the bed and patted the covers next to him. "This is a king size bed. There's hardly a shortage of space."

Alex stood up and slowly made her way over. "Are you sure?" She asked. "It's not exactly ideal for a professional relationship." Her and her journalistic integrity. He swore it would be the death of her.

"It's fine, Alex, really. Just sleep, so I can too." He rolled over back down on the pillows facing away from her.

"...okay. If you're sure." He felt the mattress shift slightly under her weight as she climbed under the covers, pulling the duvet up. He risked a look over his shoulder to see she'd curled tightly up into a ball at the far end of the bed, eyes shut but not yet asleep, like she was focusing carefully on something. After a few minutes, her careful, measured breaths began to slow and relax, and Strand saw her slowly fade into a peaceful unconsciousness. Satisfied, he let himself drift off too.

* * *

He woke to hair in his face.

He pulled back, trying to extricate himself from the mass of honey-brown curls that had seemingly invaded his room, when he heard a light groan.

Oh.

It was Alex, curled up in his arms with her face buried into his chest. At some point in the night they'd gravitated toward each other, and now their legs were tangled in the middle of the bed, sheets crumpled around them. Warm, golden sun streamed in the window. Strand couldn't see his alarm clock, but he imagined it must be around nine.

Well, thank God it was Sunday.

This was inappropriate. It was bad enough that they were in the same bed, but _pressed together_ like this- He bit his lip. Carefully, he tried to free his right arm where it was trapped under her pillow, but the movement jostled her head. Suddenly, a pair of eyes met his.

Alex looked at him blearily, obviously taking a second to process the situation, but then tensed.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello."

They stayed that way, two deer caught in each other's headlights, for almost a minute before Alex suddenly shifted, backing up quickly.

"I should, uh. I should go get dressed." She said, sliding hurriedly out from between the covers.

"Right. Yes." _Get it together, Strand._ "I'll… go make some coffee."

Dear lord, he hoped to hell and back that intern of hers _never_ found out about this.


End file.
